


we have come, last and best

by garden of succulents (staranise)



Series: the happy stable Pimbits AU [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Dinner Parties, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Multi, way more dogs than I initially expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/pseuds/garden%20of%20succulents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One season behind them, another poised to slide into motion, and somehow, impossibly, they've got to where they wanted to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we have come, last and best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somethingnerdythiswaycomes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/gifts).



> Hi recip! I tried to take you at your word when you said nothing could be too sappy. :3 I hope you like it!
> 
> Thanks to the people who let me borrow their headcanons: [Noodle](http://bittybae.tumblr.com/post/145632046946/let-kent-have-a-dog-please) from bittybae and [Winter the emotional support dog](http://go-topshelf-on-chowder.tumblr.com/post/146095897780/audiaphilios-bestbakingbitty-im-still-on) from bestbakingbitty and go-topshelf-on-chowder.

The early September sun finds the kitchen windows by mid-afternoon and spills light into the kitchen.  This is Bitty's favourite time to  be here, in the comfortable post-nap pre-dinner interval, the honeyed oak of his cupboards glowing  down on him as he works.  As clean as it is, the kitchen doesn't look like a show home anymore.  The coat hooks by the back door are loaded with hoodies and windbreakers; there are papers and photographs on the fridge. One wall is dedicated to a massive dry-erase calendar that tracks three months of games, work meetings, farmers' markets and therapists' appointments, tonight's dinner party, training camp, the deadline for proofs for Bitty's cookbook circled three times around in red.  It looks more like what it is, which is the beating heart of a household.

He gives the pie he's prepared an affectionate pat, then puts it in the second oven and sets a timer.

As he pulls vegetables out of the refrigerator he whistles loudly, a distinctive four-note sound.  There's no response by the time he's pulled a flyer out of the recycle and the peeler out of the cutlery drawer, so he picks up his phone and texts: _Need a sous chef down here._

Feet thump on the floor above him as the first carrot peels hit the paper and Kent appears on the stairs not long after, barefoot and a little sleepy.  "Whaddaya need?" he asks as he comes over, sliding a hand into Bitty's back pocket and leaning in to kiss his neck in casual greeting, then lets go to wash his hands at the sink.  Kit trails in after him with requisite leisurely stretching, before jumping up onto the plinth reserved for her to supervise the proceedings.

"These into quarter-inch coins," Bitty says, tapping the carrot on the cutting board as he works, "Squash and zucchini into one-inch cubes, throw 'em all into a bowl with the olive oil mix.  When you're doing that I'll start a mise en place for the sauce, which if you can take over, I'll get to work on the gravy, and we'll swap out the roast for the vegetables in the oven."

"Roger roger," Kent says, getting a cutting board out from the stand and a chef's knife off the magnetic strip.  They collaborate, debating spice mixes to toss the vegetables in, Bitty starting Kent's roux for him, Kent clearing away peels and utensils and empty bowls from Bitty while he works.  Kit disdains the sliver of roast Kent cuts off for her when it comes out of the oven; she far prefers raw meat.

The front door opening brings the jingling of keys with it, and the click of claws on hardwood.  Without looking up Kent singsongs, "In here, Dingbat."

Noodle catapults into the kitchen a second after, heading for Kent like a heat-seeking missile.  He turns his burner on low and crouches down, running his hands over Noodle while the greyhound writhes and whines as if to say: _We have been apart FOREVER, and there was WEATHER and I DIDN'T LIKE IT and we saw DOGS and they were SCARY and I saw a LEAF and I am SO GLAD to be BACK HERE WITH YOU._ Face-licking is involved.

"I brought a guest," Jack calls from the front hallway.  He and Winter come in trailed by George, who's looking rosy and windswept in athletic gear and apologizing for coming by without warning.  When Jack takes off Winter's harness she comes by Kent and Bitty for a sniff, then trundles over to her basket by the back door and curls up into it.

"Oh, honey, you are always welcome in this house," Bitty says, coming forward with the grace and charm of Southern hospitality, and kisses George's cheek.  "We haven't seen you in _forever._ "

(Kent is washing his hands as they come in, and overseeing a byplay: Noodle notices Kit, who has uncurled and sat up since he came in, and shies, ears flat against his head and tail between his legs.  He creeps closer to Kit in an attitude of supplication, but when his nose approaches arm's reach Kit cocks her paw in the whapping ready position.  Noodle recognizes this, and backs away.  Kent points at Kit.  "Behave," he orders.  Then he goes over to say hi to George.)

George has had a busy summer, although she also managed to fit in a trip to Spain with her wife.  She's being widely feted throughout the NHL right now as the woman who maneuvered what they're already calling "the trade of the century".  She'd thought that she'd be busy tonight with another engagement, but it's been cancelled now that her wife's been called into work.  She apologizes for the late notice.

"Well, we're glad to have you," Bitty says, then swats Jack's butt while he's stirring Kent's sauce with the other hand.  "But sweetheart, kindly go add another chair to the table and set it before you go up and change, if you could."

"Ten?" Jack asks.

Bitty stops to re-count the list on the fridge, adding one, before he verifies, "Ten."

"George," Kent says, "Wine?"

They debate wine and pour, and Kent libates the sauce somewhat; George sketches in the details of her Spanish holiday, and at length Bitty hears the shower upstairs cut off.  "You," he says, holding the sauce whisk out to Kent and leaning the gravy spoon against the edge of the pot, "take these and entertain George while I run up and put on a fresh shirt."

Kent passes him on the stairs, last of them to change.  When Bitty comes back down George is sitting at the breakfast bar and drinking wine; on the couch not far away Snowy is obliging Noodle in a belly-scratch while his wife Lorene nurses their baby.  Jack, in an apron, is stirring things on the stove.  Bitty gets to be the one to open the door to Shitty and Lardo, throw his arms around them and usher them into the house.  While Jack is pouring them wine and Bitty's plating the vegetables the bell rings again, and Kent answers it; he and Tater exchange kisses while Yuri eels past their legs in search of his brother, until he and Noodle are a yapping ball of legs tumbling over each other on the living room floor.  Kent distracts them by bouncing a tennis ball on the kitchen floor twice; when he has the greyhounds' full undivided attention he opens the back door and throws it to the furthest possible corner of the back yard.  They streak out the door after it, and he slams the door the moment it's clear.  It will take them a while to realize they've been shut out for dinner.

Seven guests and the three of them; this isn't a teambuilding dinner or a brainstorming session, and the group dynamics don't need to be carefully watched.  This is their inner circle, the people they love and enjoy the company of, in addition to trusting.  The six times they rearranged furniture finally seem worth it, as conversation flows effortlessly from the kitchen to the living room to the dining table, nobody awkward or left out.  It's a good night with good food, and by some miracle the conversation keeps straying into topics other than hockey.

Bitty finds himself listing to one side, flushed with wine and shining with happiness.  Lenore describes the launch of the new school program she got funded.  Jack, loose-shouldered, leans back from his plate with a groan and laughs while Kent tells a story, face alight and hands moving. Kent started dropping by the local LGBTQ youth centre for basketball games once Shitty persuaded him to join the regional board of directors, and the shared interest has bonded them.  Winter stays curled under Jack's chair like a good dog, not sensing any distress and too well-mannered to beg for scraps; Noodle and Yuri press their noses to the glass of the door as if to promise that _this time_ they won't try eating food off the table.

In time they render the pie down to nothing more than fond memories and sticky plates. Jack loads the dishwasher while Tater solemnly kisses the baby on her head and leads his dog out, Kent collecting wineglasses off unexpected surfaces while Shitty and Lardo offer George a ride home.  

Later that night Bitty does evenings rounds, checking locks and turning off lights.  Kent's bedroom door is open, lamplight spilling out into the hallway. Jack and Kent have gotten sidetracked somehow; Jack is leaning against the headboard, Kent leaning back into his arms, and though they're both still dressed (although in sock feet) and on top of the covers, they look slow and drowsy, caught in a moment and happy to stay.  Bitty pokes his head inside.  "You two need anything before I turn in?"

Kent's eyes light up like they've just been talking about him; Jack smiles that same old full-of-love way and reaches out a hand.  Bitty sheds his shoes and crawls over to join the pile, chirping them that there _is_ a California King right down the hall, which fits them better than Kent's Queen, but it's pro forma.

"I'm just so grateful," Jack says quietly.  He squeezes Bitty's hand.  Training camp starts in two days.  Kent's first training camp with the Falconers; his first full regular season.  Integrating Kent into the Falconers was a lot more difficult than moving him to Providence when he decided Aces management had gone too far.  All the move took was a carry-on bag of clothes and a checked bag of hockey gear, an afternoon walking through Kent's apartment, putting stickers on items the movers didn't need to pack up, scooping Kit into her carrier.  Getting him onto the team, going from the moment with the three of them when Jack said, "I have an idea," to the ice, was so much harder.  It took so much work to manage, so much negotiation and stress and planning--to build a team around Jack and Kent is to shake it to its foundations.  The team during Playoffs was an airplane that was assembled as it was being flown; now they're going to see what they can do when they've had a whole summer to plan things out in the hangar, and they're about to start test flights.

"I love you assholes," Kent says.

Bitty laces his fingers with Jack, leans his head on Kent's chest.  "Love you too, sweetheart."  He gives Jack's hand a little squeeze.  "We're gonna do great."


End file.
